Forever Yours, Almost. Whitmere Family Legacy Book 1

SLOANE

Rhett’s office smells like leather and whiskey and something dangerously familiar. Him. I’ve spent ten years avoiding this for a reason. I’ve spent ten years leaving a situation if it reminded me of him- hell he I’ve spent ten years avoiding anyone of the male species unless I needed one thing.

I tell myself that this is ridiculous. That ten years is plenty of time to unlearn the way a man makes your body remember before your mind catches up. Ten years can stifle any desire in the human body- doesn’t it take twenty-one days to learn a new behavior?

Apparently not.

“This is a bad idea,” I was standing next to the door so I could leave if I needed to. And I’m honestly considering it. Damned putting my company on the map. Damned all those long nights and early mornings. From controlling every aspect of every project- from blueprints, to contractors, to designers. I need peace. I built a life without him. I thought I had it, I thought I had reached peace and success.. and I thought I was ready for this, and boy was I mistaken.

Rhett leans back in his chair, slow and deliberate. Analyzing me with every move he makes. He doesn’t look rushed. He doesn’t look unsure. That used to undo me. It doesn’t now.. right? “Funny,” he says, smirking, “You always used to say that right before doing whatever you wanted.”

My mouth opens. Closes. God, he remembers me too well. That’s not me now. I'm no longer nineteen years old without a care in the world- I can’t even think around this man. I’m in over my head. I swallow hard before I reply- “I’m here to talk business,” I say. “Your business. My business. The business I’ve worked my ass off for, Rhett. Not that you can begin to ever understand- my family doesn’t have an ‘estate’ not in Oklahoma and damn sure not in any galaxy in the universe and beyond.” I continue hastily- “The Spa Expansion needs the Hotel. The hotel needs my business, that's it.” I say firmly. This was with thoroughly more dedication than I’ve put onto a statement in over ten years. Rhett stands and looks me over slowly. I feel like I’m naked in front of this cursed man. I'm trying my best to act like he doesn’t exist and I’m here for business. Because I am. The air changes as he stands- or thickens, so stifling I can’t breathe- everything around me pulls tight. I need to get out of here, I think to myself. I need an ice bath. I need a lobotomy. Who was I to ever think I could take on the Whitmere family? It doesn’t matter how much blood, sweat, and tears I put into climbing my way to the top at Westwood Interiors & Co. No matter the sleepless nights and problems I’ve had to solve. Not when Rhett is around. He takes two steps forward, stopping close enough that I can feel his heat without touching him.

“Business, you say?” he repeats softly. “My Magnolia, is that why your pulse just jumped?”

I hate that he notices. I hate that he’s right. I hate that he used that ridiculous pet name for me- formed when we were children. This man is infuriating. It’s been a decade. For a decade I proved myself to the entire world, Yet here I am trying to win him over. Trying to win the approval of a man for a job I was hired to do.

“Move,” I whisper. He doesn’t. “Move, now Rhett” I say louder with the most authority I can project. We can’t do this. Not on day one. And definitely not hours into a project that will take me months to complete, even with the best team in my corner.

Instead of listening to me his hand lifts- slow, careful, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch is brief but devastating. How am I ever going to pull this off? This job will make me the senior vice president of the company and here I am.. visiting ghosts in Oklahoma.

My breath catches, traitorous and loud. “You still react,” he murmurs. “The exact same way you always did, Sloane.”

“Don’t,” I reply- too fast, too breathless. I want him to stop but my body remembers how much he owns me. But my voice isn’t steady. It’s unsure. It’s inviting- if anything. I’m doomed. “Rhett, We can’t- we can not” I say sternly. he pauses and processes for a brief moment, and steps back away from me, thank the heavens maybe I can gain some control of the situation. “I know,” he says with a growl in his throat that almost tears me apart “That’s the problem.” His thumb brushes my jaw, feather-light. Another touch. Another move. My skin hums where he touches me, every nerve screaming in memory. My heart tells me, we want this- we need this. But my brain reminds me- Finish the job Sloane. We have shut everyone and everything out. Everything. but this man rushes back in, with his good looks and comments and you’re toast? we can’t lose. Don’t lose. I look up into those brown eyes and for just one reckless second, I think he might kiss me. I think I want him to. I think I might let him.

Instead, he drops his hand and steps back, jaw tight, eyes cold, like restraint costs him everything. “We’ll work together,” he says, voice rough now. “Professionally.” I nod, even though my body is still leaning toward him. “That’s for the best, Rhett.” Although part of me is let down. What’s wrong with me? I knew before coming here I was over him and he was over me. Now I’m willing to plead like a school girl? Lord, please get me out of Oklahoma and fast.

“You’re dismissed Ms. Hart” he says dismissively with a curt nod before he walks around his large oak desk- a desk I wouldn’t mind testing out in the future- lord help me, what am I thinking? Rhett pauses looking just as dangerous and dismissive as he is. “Very well, Mr. Whitmere.” I swallow hard. Letting his name bite off of my tongue with all of the malice I can produce. “Thank you for your time. I would love to thank the Whitmere Estate on behalf of all of us at Westwood Interiors. We look forward to completing this project, efficiently and in no time” I fumble my words quickly. He dismisses me with a wave- a wave.

This man is unnerving, I think to myself as I gather my briefcase and march to his stupid private elevator. As I descend the eleventh floor, I realize something terrifying. Something mind blowing. This isn’t unresolved tension. This isn’t a business deal. It’s unfinished love